


He Finds Me

by robzisapanda



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Depression, Existential Crisis, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hypersensitivity, M/M, Phanfiction, Sad, kinda sad, word vomit (as usual)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 23:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4078612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robzisapanda/pseuds/robzisapanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it all becomes a bit too much for him, or a lot too much for him- which happens sometimes, or a lot of the time - there is only one voice who can bring him back to life.</p><p>Or the kind of senseless fluffy word vomit I wrote at 2 am about Phil being kind of sad and lost and Dan being kind of (a lot) adorable and helping him breathe again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Finds Me

The clock is irritating to be honest. The incessant ticking that further reminds me of the time I'm wasting, the list of things I should be doing, the fact that I am not doing these things.

I've tried but I just can't. The list is ever-growing before my unseeing eyes, the white of my ceiling is beginning to burn my retinas as words that begin to become meaningless fly across the blank space. The ever-increasing mass of simple tasks. Make breakfast, edit the gaming channel video, brush my teeth, script the video for this weekend, shower, help to plan this next week's radio show, buy milk, don't eat all the cereal, back-up cell phone, check that memory cards for the cameras are clear for filming this week, choose a playlist for this morning's tasks, remember to go- 

Instead I focus on my duvet. My eyes flicker shut and I allow all of my attention to travel to the feeling of the washing machine softened polyester-cotton blend canvas underneath me. The fabric is too cool for my chilled body. The cold spreading from my exposed forearms through my arms to my drooping shoulders, as I feel myself drifting though, I don't notice the cold. 

Instead I focus on the brash sounds of London being muffled by my closed windows and allow the soft sounds to lull me away from thoughts for a moment. The muted chatter that reminds me of the billions of humans alive at this precise moment. Not just alive but living, talking, laughing, feeling, breathing, relentlessly being. All coexisting and interacting but never seeing the small trails they leave, never truly appreciating how much of an impact a single person can make, never realising how much they matter. I often wish that everyone could see how important they are to the world, to their loved ones, to their past acquaintances, to their future friends, family, lovers. I often wish people were different, I often wish they could see it. Right now though, my brain is not suitable prepared for this depth of thought.

Instead I focus on the darkness behind my eyelids. The strange, shifting apparitions that flit through that darkness and where they came from, if they had ever had a list, if they ever wondered about their importance in life. The figures give way to the fireworks as I rub my aching eyes. The fireworks that captivated me when I was younger and we all sat in a cold field on the hard ground with nothing but each other to steal warmth from. The fireworks captivated me when I sat on the hood of a car at 17, a bottle of rebellion in my hand and fewer people, fewer clothes but more warmth. The fireworks stopped captivating me when I sat in an alley with a whimpering stray dog trying to burrow into my skin to escape from the noise, only one person beside me in the cold, but the only one I ever really needed. The fireworks no longer captivated me, how could they compare to the fireworks I felt everyday, the ones that had nothing to do with explosions in the sky or bright lights. Feelings had started to encroach on my emotionless wanderings and the assault took my breath away and left me gasping. My whole body ached and I quickly stopped imagining fireworks.

Instead my eyes opened and glued to the faint sliver of light that edged around my drawn curtains. I focus on the blend of colours that is now reflecting off my wall, the intricate patterns created by the inevitable light that refused to be snuffed. I allow my entire being to melt into that patch of light. That constant reminder of life and breath and freedom. And in that light I lose control of my thoughts. 

Instead of attempting to regain control or even follow where they're going to be able to find my way back to where I started, I leave my mind to wander where it wishes. For the first time in what feels like forever I release the tight grip that has stopped my brain to travel, prevented its journeys through maze and alley and side road and country road and river and forest, I release that tight grip and allow myself to lose all semblance of rational and seemingly ordered thought.

I hear the voices that scream my list into my ears but I ignore them. Similarly I ignore the oversensitivity of my entire being that means my skin is prickling from the feeling of material rubbing against it, that means my mouth is stinging from the cold air sliding along my tongue into my aching lungs, that means my eyes throb from the too bright not darkness, that means my stomach clenches from the bowl of cereal I had before bed, that means my entire body hurts from the stimulation that is life. I can't breathe, it's pressing on my lungs and my body feels trapped to that bed, my lungs refuse to expand, me eyes refuse to close and my joints will not respond in the slightest. I am trapped in my own body, feeling everything rather than knowing or thinking, unable to even begin to understand what my mind is doing. My thoughts are not with me and I feel the panic pressing in on my senses, the only things that will work but will not allow me to react. I am lost in this haze of sensitivity and I am lost in this body I have been trapped in, I am lost and I can't process enough to get my bearings or try to find my way back. I feel lost and alone in a way that I had never experienced before, this however, I knew.

In the midst of the hopelessness and panic, I could usually only feel, only experience and not know or think or understand. Which is why it was normal for me to feel his presence rather than know that he was there.

As usual, his entrance had been too silent for me to notice. I felt rather than understood his immediate acknowledgment of knowing what was happening and could similarly only feel his ginger lowering onto the bed beside me. As he did, the surface below me shifted and the pain increased, I felt the air rush through my parched throat as the involuntary gasp that shocked us both I think screamed into the room.

I could feel his helplessness as he looked at me, although he still hadn’t moved into my field of vision. I felt the mattress move again but could not respond to the pain of it this time. His hand was suddenly in my hair and where I expected pain, I felt a strange sense of calm as his fingers lightly brushed through my hair. 

I focused solely on that. I tried with all my might to direct all my senses towards him and it seemed to work as he filled me. His scent was surrounding me, wrapping me in a blanket of vanilla and warmth and cinnamon while the steady movements of his fingers sent soothing ripples down my body, easing some of that painful oversensitivity. His gentle breathing filled my ears and the sound eased the screaming of the voices and the chatter from outside and the thoughts that wrapped around one another and double backed and wandered and ran and jumped through the field of my mind. Some moments later his voice joins that symphony and although the soft murmurs are harsh on my eardrums for a moment his honey-smooth lilting sentences and calm humming, that my brain is not prepared to decript quite yet , help to ease the burn. 

He is everywhere and anywhere and his everything fills every space my chaos hasn’t yet and it untangles the mess. His fingers in my hair unknot the tension that has trapped my body. His scent warms my joints and relieves the burn in my throat and nostrils. His melodic voice shows the way for my staggering, dazed, exhausted fragments of thought.  
What feels like hours later my mind is clearing of the fog. I can make out what he’s saying now. It’s nothing complicated or elaborate or even half as extensive in vocabulary as his usualy running sentences.

“Phil. Phil. I love you. I need you to come back to me, baby. I love you and I need you to find your way back to where I am. Phil? I love you so much sweetheart. I just wanted to tell you that but you won’t be able to hear me until you come back. Take my hand and I can show you how to get back, okay? You trust me to get you back? I love you”  
To anyone else the repeated matra makes no sense, but when Dan murmurs it to me, it means more than the world. 

I reach up to touch his hand and the tingles that run up my arm are no longer painful, instead they are warm and comforting. His stream of lovely nonsense ceases and I feel him shuffle around to lie beside me. His scent and touch and quiet breathing are reassuring and as he settles beside me I feel the last of the panic, hopelessness, entrapment, desperation and desolation leak from my body and leave exhaustion in their place. I glance up as he drags the blanket from the bottom of the bed and as his eyes meet mine and soften in that way that I still to this day, 5 years later, have trouble believing is directed at me I am captivated by fireworks.

I feel them but I understand them now as well. I will never be able to fathom the way that Dan can find me no matter where I am. He can spend hours guiding me back to him and no matter what I will always follow. I may lose myself often, I may end the day sobbing into a pillow as he rubs my back, I may not be able to speak from absense or rawness of my throat or sheer exhaustion, I may not be able to function for days after losing myself, but Dan is my constant. He brings his fireworks and his warm hand and soothing voice and shows me how to come home, and then reminds me what it’s like to be home so that I am that much more willing to follow him back next time. Back home, back to him.

**Author's Note:**

> So this isn't really something I actively decided to write, I was just listening to sad music and felt the need to try and explain how I was feeling and then suddenly it became Phan-related (doesn't everything?). 
> 
> So, yeah. If you liked please do indicate that fondness in some way? If not that's okay too. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and follow for more such early morning odysseys  
> :) xx


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